Lonesome
by icylemonsquash
Summary: 24. Once, when George was very sick with a fever, Angelina found him talking to his reflection in a mirror.


_A/N: So I was mulling around tumblr one day, and I found this head canon. It moved me in ways you couldn't imagine, and I was so inspired I begun writing. I hope you enjoy it and find reading as moving an experience as writing it was. This is dedicated to my one and only sister, __**bangthatsheyt**__, thank you so much for all your help! 3_

_Don't forget to review/favourite! I do need the constructive criticism!_

_xxx icylemonsquash_.

'**24. Once, when George was very sick with a fever, Angelina found him talking to his reflection in a mirror.'**

"George."

"Mhmm."

"Georgie, wake up," Angelina Johnson demanded, throwing a pillow at her fiancé.

"Blhudy hell, Angie," he murmured, rolling over in bed.

"Swearing in the morning isn't very becoming, my dear," Angelina said to him, her voice layered with fake sweetness.

George groaned. "Dhuntfeelshogud,"

Angelina turned her back on George and headed toward the kitchen counter, which wasn't a very big distance since their massive bed was in the living room of their little flat above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley.

Dropping a teabag into a piping hot cup of water, Angelina snorted.

"I've known you for a good 15 years. Do you honestly think I'd fall for that?"

"Seruzly," George mumbled into his pillow. "Touch!"

Raising her brows, Angelina said, "Really? In the morning?"

George pushed himself up into a sitting position, literally seeing stars levitate in front of his eyes. Leaning against the headrest, he said, "Not like that," he moaned. "Forehead," he slurred

Sighing, Angelina left the counter and placed the back of her right hand on George's bright pink forehead.

"Merlin, you're right, that is hot!"

George nodded dozily, and then murmured, "Feelz like shit."

Angelina bit her lip, left the bed and scooped the cup of tea off the counter and encased it in her hands. She walked to the bed in two quick strides and handed the cup to George.

"It's hot. Drink it slowly," she said softly, her warm brown eyes full of concern.

George looked up at her, taking the cup gratefully. He slowly sipped the hot tea, and his eyes locked with Angelina's in a rare moment of seriousness, miraculously uninterrupted by the dizzying stars floating around his head. "Dunno whut I'd do wifoutchu," he mumbled.

The corner of Angelina's lips rose as she reached out and put her hand on the side of his face, slowly fingering his side-burns and sweeping past the hole that had replaced his ear for a few years now.

"Did you test some new product out yourself?" she frowned, annoyed with George's lack of safety. Something she admittedly, should have gotten used to these past few years.

He groaned, his eyelids fluttering down quietly.

George had had talked to her previously about designing an instantaneous antidotes for all the skiving snackbox products. "Well, do you have an antidote for it lying around?"

He shook his head, regretting the movement immediately. He could literally hear his head pounding. That mustn't be a good sign.

Angelina groaned. "It's going to kill you someday, your recklessness."

George grunted non-committially.

Angelina sighed. What was she going to do with him? "I'll go out and get some potion to fix that fever. Just stay in bed, okay?"

George repeated the action and Angelina shook her head.

She got off the bed and ruffled George's ginger hair lightly. She kissed him on the forehead and left.

As Angelina left their apartment, George saw his vision blur somewhat. Shaking himself lightly, he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, willing his vision to steady.

No such luck.

He didn't even have the time to lie back on the bed before sleep took him once more.

But this time, so did the nightmares.

It had been months since the nightmares, really. Ever since George had moved in with Angelina, the intervals between the nightmares had increased, and soon, they disappeared. But they were back now.

_Fred's face swam before his eyes, laughing merrily at his older brother. His Fred, his brother, __**his twin**__. He shouldn't have left Fred. He should have stayed. He should have never let him go. _

_ He watched, helpless, as Rookwood brandished his wand, face filled with glee. George stood immobilized, as if stupefied. He tried to scream, shout, yell something to save his brother, but no words left his lips. Fred was shot backward, blasted into the rubble of what had remained of Hogwarts._

_ He remembered the feeling. The feeling in his gut when Fred had been killed. It was a draining sensation, much like what happened to a sink when the plug was pulled. A sudden loss, a blinding disconnection. _

_ But he had pushed the thought aside, attributing it to paranoia, only to find Fred's body lying in the Great hall the next hour._

_ And it seemed like the world dissolved around him and it was as if he was pulled into a swirling black vortex head first. He reappeared in the Great Hall, watching his family weep over his twin, his best friend. _

"NO, NO! NO, FRED! FRED!"

George's head swerved wildly, and since his head wasn't on his pillow, like it usually was, this resulted in a hard thwack to the side of his head, which did absolutely nothing to help with his already monsterous headache. He put his arms around his shaking body, unable to believe how his skin could feel so warm to the touch when he felt so cold inside. The tears that accompanied every nightmare slid down his freckled cheeks. Goosebumps erupted on his skin and he tried to banish the sensation by rubbing his arms repeatedly with his hands as his body rocked back and forth.

Shuddering lightly, he blearily told himself to forget the dream, but he wasn't sure if his brain had received the command, the state it was in.

Ignoring the double vision, he put out his shaking fingers, taking hold of the hot cup of tea. He drew it upward, lifting it toward his lips. He unthinkingly raised the cup to his lips and his unstable hands cause a massive splashing of hot tea down his front.

Cursing, George crawled off the bed, setting the cup down on his bedside table. He ambled up to the dressing table, groping along the bedside table for his wand.

Focusing on the large stain dominating the center of his pajama shirt, he pointed his wand unstably at the stain. Feeling himself sway on the spot, he muttered, "Tergeo."

The stain's radius reduced, but it still stood out prominently on his shirt. The same couldn't be said for George, however, as the clutched on to the table's edge, trying to rid himself of the bout of giddiness overcoming him.

Shaking himself lightly, he tried once more.

"Tergeo," he said determinedly, staring right at the reflection of his shirt in the mirror. Nothing happened.

The muggle way, then.

Gently pushing himself away from the table, he directed his feet away from the dressing table and toward the kitchen, annoyed with his brain and his limbs' sluggish movements.

He flipped the tap on and leaned forward, pulling his shirt away from his body and toward the mouth of the running tap. He did his best to attempt to keep the area dry – for Angie's sake, at least – and smiled thickly when he saw the tea stain disappearing.

Satisfied, he turned round, cursing himself for moving so quickly. He reached out to grab the counter to steady himself as black spots danced before his eyes.

"Shite," George scrunched his eyes shut, willing his brain to stabilize. Damn it, he should have listened to Angie. He meandered away from the sink, the black spots overriding his vision steadily growing larger.

Losing consciousness, his knees buckled.

He came to soon after, and inspected his surroundings, his brain feeling twice as muddled as before. He pushed himself off the floor, his legs feeling so jelly-like he vaguely wondered if Lockhart had been let out St Mungos and had been unleashed upon him.

"It's your fault, you know." George blinked quickly alarmed that such a familiar voice had taken on such a cold tone. "It's your fault he's dead."

He looked up, head swimming. His plump mother stood before him, an accusatory finger pointed at him, nothing in her eyes but anger.

"Mum… I-"

"I lost a son because of you. I lost a son!"

George failed to realize the ridiculousness of the accusation, seeing as he was her son as well. The only thing his slow-moving brain processed was guilt and pure, unblemished grief.

"I didn't… I didn't mean to!" he cried, his arms held outward, as if to ward off his mothers accusations. His fingers shook and his vision blurred, focused on nothing but the figure of his mother.

His mother's short plump figure then morphed into a slightly taller, leaner one. His youngest sister stood before him, red hair flying about her face like fire.

"So what if you didn't mean to? YOU LEFT HIM ALONE-"

"I didn't-"

"-You left him to die, George!"

His knees buckled once more, as he lost every iota strength – physically and mentally – left in him.

"No, Ginny, I…"

With a movement similar to the dizzying spin performed during apparition, Ginny vanished.

Sobs racked his body, shivers running through his lean form. "I… I didn't mean to, Fred. I'm so s-sorry, I should have never le-left you alone to fight-" His head swiveled round desperately, looking for someone to witness his apology. He caught a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye.

"Fred?"

Angelina was out of the third Apothecary she had visited, her dark fingers clutching onto the glass vial full of green potion. Finally. Amazing how difficult it was to find a simple vial of fever antidote. She scurried back to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, gently pushing her way through the gathering crowd, murmuring many 'coming through's and ''scuze me's.

Finally forcing her way to the quieter back of the shop, she hurriedly pushed open the door that led to the staircase directly leading her to their flat. She ran up the staircases, two at a time, still clutching the vial tightly.

Eventually reaching the door to their flat, Angie panted slightly as she quickly murmured 'patchwork', the password they had set for the apartment.

Funny, from outside she could've sworn she heard George talking to someone.

As the door swung open, Angelina opened her mouth, ready to call out. Then she realized he actually had been talking to someone. Sidling quietly through their small apartment, Angelina peeped around doorway leading to the living room, gasping lightly when she saw George.

"Freddie," George smiled contentedly at his reflection in the mirror. "You're…You're back! I'd… I'd thought I'd actually lost you."

Angelina clung to the doorframe, gooseflesh appearing on her skin. The corner of her eyes pricked with tears and she tried to look away from George, but she just couldn't.

George put his hand on the surface of the mirror, as though reaching out to touch his twin. "I've been so lonely, Fred."

Tears gathered in her eyes, although none fell down.

"But… But everything'll go back to normal, won't it? It'll be like before. We'll be together Freddie. That's the way it's supposed to be," George said to the mirror with finality. "I didn't mean to leave you Fred. It… It just happened. But you're back now. Its fine now, isn't it?"

She couldn't take it.

"George!" Angelina called out, her voice breaking. George turned to face her as she rushed toward him, _and for the first time in a long time_, she saw his smile had reached his eyes_._

"Angie! Look Angie, its Fred. Fred's back!"

Lips quivering, Angelina nodded, encircling his large wrist in her lithe fingers. "C'mon George, let's get you to bed," she said quietly, tugging him up. He stood up shakily, wobbling on his feet as Angelina gripped his forearm to steady him.

"Why're you crying, Angie?" George asked his face conveying such innocence that Angelina just wanted to envelope him in her arms.

Funny, she hadn't been aware she had been crying.

George reached out wiped a tear off her cheek. "Don't worry, Angie. It's all fine now. Freddie's back."

Angelina gulped as she set him down on the bed.

"Yeah?" she asked him, tipping his chin upward and signaling him to open his mouth as she uncorked the vial of potion she had been holding.

"Yeah," he smiled confidently, and it broke Angelina's heart seeing him this way, and knowing deep in her heart, that no matter what, Fred Weasley would never return to them.

Truth was, Fred Weasley was gone.

And George hadn't accepted it, however much he pretended. George thought she hadn't noticed, but she did.

She remembered him waking up in the middle of the night sometimes, pulling open the bottom drawer in his cupboard. He'd remove a thick envelope full of pictures, and he'd stare at him and his twin, pictures from when they were babies to when they were adults. She knew he kept Fred's old Weasley jumper tucked under the closet, and she'd seen him hugging it tight, tears sliding down his pale freckled cheeks.

She'd seen how his eyes seemed to glisten when anyone mentioned Fred, filling with unshed tears. She knew he'd go home and spend hours looking through photographs of them, plans they made, sketches for new designs and products…

It broke her heart.

She tipped the vial of potion into his mouth and let out a watery chuckle as he made a face at the bitter liquid searing his throat.

"Get back into bed, sweetheart," she said gently, pulling the blanket back, waiting for him to settle into bed.

As George lay down fully on the surface of the mattress, he reached out to hold Angelina's hand.

"You know what was funny, though, Angie?" he said sleepily, lights dancing before his eyes as he looked up to his girlfriend's face.

"What?"

"Fred was just like me. He was missing an ear."

Angelina's lips quivered lightly and she bent over George, planting a kiss on his forehead as his eyes fluttered close.

"Yeah, funny, isn't it?" she said, running her hand lightly over his ginger hair. He smiled and

leaned into her hand.

A lonesome tear slid down her cheek.

_A/N: Just review or PM me if you have any questions!_


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